


I'm Afraid of Living Without You

by toastedtofu



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, i can explain, silver lining, some would call this a love confession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastedtofu/pseuds/toastedtofu
Summary: Killua doesn't necessarily want to ask Gon to cut his hair; he can’t quite recall when it became a problem.Killua has unresolved PTSD from CAA. What else is new?
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 15
Kudos: 139





	I'm Afraid of Living Without You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telrxnya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telrxnya/gifts).



Killua doesn't necessarily want to ask Gon to cut his hair; he can’t quite recall when it became a problem. But, he reasons that if Gon were to ask him to do the same, he'd be offended and maybe even frustrated. It's not like it’s inherently bad, it's just hair. It falls over Gon's shoulder in silky waves now rather than the cropped bob it used to be, it's soft and fluffy; it's a piece of Gon, and he loves Gon. He loves him so much that he'd rather hiccup over his own anxiety than bear to ask him to cut it. It’s taken so long to grow, and even harder to train. It no longer bends towards the sky in spiky, bright strokes, but hangs low, encasing his face perfectly. He considers how long it’s taken to get to this point where it doesn't stick up in awkward tufts or struggle against gravity. Gon, he thinks, had put time and effort into this.

So, when the nightmares start, he doesn't say much. He simply rolls out of bed where Gon rests peacefully next to him, ignorant of the way his heart hammers against his sternum, choking poorly absorbed oxygen from his lungs. He walks, sometimes watching the moon, sometimes the clock, sometimes he calls Alluka. She's usually grump, perturbed by his lack of rest. He blames it on his poor sleeping schedule, blames it on the weather, blames it on their mother, anything, but Gon. Sometimes the line simply buzzes, silence stretching fat and heavy between them as he weeps on the other side of the phone directly into Alluka's ear, choking on foreign daydreams and hiding his face so that he won't wake Gon from his slumber.

Alluka cries too, silent tears that never make it past the line, silent tears that drop collections of worry on her pillow, in her hair. She cannot stand it. She knows he lies. He knows he lies. Gon knows he lies. He knows it when Killua's eyes start to droop midday while they watch TV, knows it when he hears the distinct chime of video games at all hours of the night, knows it most when he can hear Killua choke in his sleep, claws barely taking shape as he holds it all together, even in his sleep. But Gon is more patient than he lets on, than Killua would ever give him credit for. He lets Killua stew in his exhaustion until his eyes are purple, until he can't bear to look at his sallow skin anymore.

Gon drops the ladle into the soup he’s fixing, bun knotted atop his head neatly. How do you fix your lips to say to the person you love most that they scare you? How does a mouth shape around the word "fear" with ease? Killua has never in his life brought himself to say "I'm scared." He doesn't have to. His flinching does it for him. He flinches as Gon draws closer, waking him from a sleepy daydream. The phone bill sits in his hand, twice as high as when they first moved in together.

"Killua, I'm scared."

Gon says it for him. Gon knows him like wrinkled fingers. Gon knows him like yesterday's meatloaf.

"I don't know what I did, but I'm afraid. Whatever I did I'm sorry," Gon's brows furrow as they do when he refuses to cry. His voice, thick, determined, echoes through Killua's mind, barely-there understanding washes. "Are you gonna leave me?"

"Wait-- What??" Killua says, finally seeing Gon. His Gon. Brown Gon. Honey-eyed, bright-eyed, misty-eyed Gon. "You didn't do anything.”

"Killua," Gon says, straightening. He doesn't remember crouching down, he doesn't see how hard he's gripping the table. Killua can see the wood split effortlessly under his pinky. "Killua, I'm not dumb. I know that you leave in the middle of the night. And I know that you spend all your time talking on the phone," he says gesturing vaguely toward the phone bill. Killua flounders, a fish out of water. "Are you-- You don't even sleep. You don't want to cuddle. Is it-- do you want somebody else?"

"What?" Killua doesn't know why this offended him, but it does. Of all the fucking things.

"Then why don't you even look at me?" Gon accuses, the wood finally snapping under the weight of his fingers. "You don't even wanna be in the same room as me!"

"Because of your hair!"

Killua doesn't recognize his own voice in his ear, shrill and grating like an undomesticated cat. "I don't like your hair," he tries again, collecting himself.

"Okay, now you're just mak-" he cuts himself off. Recollection is a slow process, especially when you don't remember much, to begin with: flashes of electricity, burning ozone, toxic, black nen. Memory is as reliable as a wet paper towel, soluble and easily torn. The wood of the kitchen table has a permanent split. "Oh, right," Gon says. "That's right."

He rises without another word, leaving Killua to soothe the soupy vegetables; they've run over the brim of the pot, spilling pot liquor across the stove, sizzling wetly.

I've done it now, he thinks. He wants to argue, but he's too tired. It's so stupid. It's hair-- it’s not toxic black nen, it's not the hair of a 12-year-old, fully sprouted out of spite, revenge, grief. It's just hair.

"It's just hair," Gon repeats as he emerges from the restroom, covered in fine, midnight strands dangling on nothing. His face is no longer framed in a curtain of black, revealing pale ears. He's cropped it so short, you can see the skin of his scalp gleam brightly. He has a silly look on his face, the one Killua always thought made him look akin to a puppy.

"Gon-" Killua begins, preparing a lecture. He wants to explain that Gon can do whatever he likes with his body, that he didn't mean to blow up at him, that he will not and won't ever see anyone the way he see's Gon.

"It's okay, Killua," Gon says, cutting him off. "It was getting kind of annoying, anyway." He's sheepish. Killua's heart is murmuring apologies, apologies at being relieved, an endless stream of apologies. Instead, he says:

"I'm sorry. That was really fucking stupid."

And Gon bubbles over like the soup on the stove, laughter spilling out of his chest, tears springing from his eyes and he looks so sad like he might break in two right there in the middle of the kitchen, like he might splinter into chunks just like the wood decorating the floor in sharp shards. "Are you really afraid of me?"

"No," Killua says immediately. "I'm afraid of living without you."

**Author's Note:**

> In two days, I will re-read this and go "why did I write this." Baby's first angst.


End file.
